Mistaken Identity
by Lady Hallen
Summary: Harry doesn't know much aside from her name. What she does know can be summed up into three alarming sentences. Reborn remembers everything, except how he got stuck in an airbus with a woman. One-shot. Fem!Harry


**Happy New Year!**

 **Visit me in tumblr under the same name for any prompts, worldbuilding questions and just to shout at me for making you feel things.**

* * *

A person's reaction to waking up with blood in their hair, tied to a chair inside an airbus steadily losing altitude shouldn't be calm rationality.

Harry doesn't really remember much aside from her name and how to slip out of knots, but she's pretty sure that makes her not normal.

A quick scan shows her that she's alone, which is pretty strange in an airbus as huge as the one she's found herself in. Or not alone, she amends, hearing groaning and cursing in what sounded like Italian.

"Hello?" she asks, heading straight towards the man. She's pretty sure he's a man. The voice is deep enough.

The cursing cuts off abruptly. "Is someone else here?" he asks.

She rounds the corner and finds him sitting up from the floor of the bathroom. She helps him up and tries not to wince at the blood smeared on the floor. His slacks wouldn't be salvageable, it was stained pretty badly.

"We might be alone," she says, answering his unspoken question. "And the plane is losing altitude."

He says a word that shouldn't be translated in English, then, "Do you know how to fly this thing?"

Harry is about to say no, absolutely no idea, when the knowledge just presents itself to her. Yes, she does know how to fly a plane. Landing it is another matter entirely, but she has a feeling that's what he's really asking about.

"Flying, yes. Landing…theoretically?" she says slowly. "I mean, I ran simulations on landings. My teachers never let me try with anything this big though."

He stands up, showing hints of an athletic background. "I can help with theoretically," he announces, traces of confidence settling on him. It's a good look on him and she likes it better than the uncertainty from before.

"My name is Reborn," he says. "Where's the cockpit?"

.

* * *

.

Harry knows how to fly the plane, which is the good news. The bad news is that she still remembers nothing about herself.

She's starting to have suspicions though.

She knows how to untie knots. She knows how to check for concussions, and how to fly a plane. She also knows how to patch them to the nearest airport, which creeps her out. Why on earth would she memorize the phone number for all the airports in the world?

Reborn, the man, has no such problems with his memory.

Technically, he doesn't really remember why both of them were stuck in an airbus by themselves, but he did know everything else.

"I'm a math professor," he says, filling in the tense atmosphere between the both of them as they approach the airport. "And I'm fairly sure that you're supposed to bleed off speed before entering the runway. There's a certain angle you're supposed to hit to get into the proper trajectory for a landing."

Harry is so surprised that she almost falls out of her chair.

"You're a math professor," she says numbly. "Oh my god, this is crazy. What am I doing?"

He huffs irritably, no ounce of shame on him. "I am a _great_ math professor. By the distance of the airport, you need to bleed off speed. Landing is less than 300 knots. I think it was 150."

Harry feels amusement bubble up in her even as she follows the instructions, fingers flickering over the buttons with speed that shows her experience. Her body knows what she is doing, even if she doesn't. It would be a relief, if she actually understands _why_ she knows these things.

The first flicker of alarm shows up on his face when she starts to hold the yoke and tilts it to the right. The rest of the plane follows suit, tilting right and approaching the ground with alarming speed. She had already lost speed, but the ground approach is still too fast. There's a chance the wheels would explode on landing.

"What are you doing?" he asks.

Harry smiles hysterically. "So you remember that bit I said about having memory problems? I think I just remembered something."

"How to land a plane?" he asks, not quite desperately but with so much sarcasm.

"No. I remembered that I learned how to fly planes on fighter jets," she says, trying to stave off the hysterics.

By the look on his face, she doesn't quite succeed.

.

* * *

.

So, they land, but they ruin an airport runway as well.

Somewhere along the way, Harry ruins her careful hairdo – which had survived whatever bashed her on the head – and her hair hangs lose all over her face. Reborn's jacket and tie hang over his arm and his slacks are smeared with blood.

Backlit, of course, by sirens and flashing lights of ambulances and police cars.

"They're investigating the black box for clues," she says as a greeting. There's a shock blanket around her shoulders and she's pretty sure her wrist is sprained, but whatever. She just landed a plane.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" he asks.

Going through the investigation and interrogations had given him this sort of idea that she is a secret agent. It would be hilarious if it doesn't have the possibility of being real.

"Harry Potter," a voice says at the back, seething with anger.

Harry jumps, her body's reflex when confronted with that voice, somehow.

She faces a woman with bushy brown hair and it gets inside her mouth when she's ambushed by a hug.

"Fucking Potters," the woman says, fond and exasperated. "Do you know that I was trying to track you down? You don't slip your guards like that. You just don't."

Harry smiles. Bits and pieces of her memory are filtering back at her words, which is making her suppress giggles. Hindsight is twenty-twenty. This is hilarious.

"Hermione. Great to see you," she says, suppressing laughter, though not as well as she thought, judging by the pursing of her friends mouth.

"And you!" she turns to Reborn, who looks surprised at being included. "You're supposed to be undercover in her school as a math professor, but it looks like you assimilated your cover instead!"

The laughter she's suppressing comes tumbling out. Because. The both of them had thought she was the secret agent. They worried for the wrong person.

She can tell he finally remembers by the wry look on his face. Renato Sinclair, codename Reborn. Her bodyguard.

"Principessa," he drawls out. "When did you find time to slip your bodyguards to fly a fighter jet?"

She looks behind him and sees the doctor studiously doing inventory. No. Bandages aren't _that_ interesting.

"Xanxus, you asshole," she calls out. "You couldn't have jogged our memory? You had to call my _dad_?"

He smirks at her, discarding his mask. It's disturbing to see such a violent man wearing medical scrubs.

Reborn is standing up, outrage on his face. "You fucker. You taught her how to fly on _your fighter jet_."

And then there are two of her bodyguards wrestling in front of her.

Harry sighs, turning to Hermione, whose covering her face with her hands. "Oh my god, why did you bring him. And oh my god, why did you ask _Byakuran_ to catch me and Reborn from our vacation?"

Because Byakuran, the fucker, would be the type to find it hilarious to tie up the two people he's supposed to track down and put them in a plane. Then, in the apex of the flight, jump out with a parachute just as the drugs are wearing off.

Hermione rolls her eyes, though from the furrow in her brow, Byakuran wouldn't get paid. "Because your dad was panicking, Harry. He was willing to ask _Malfoy_ to track you down."

Okay, point.

If Byakuran's methods resulted in a broken airport and thousands of dollars in for property damage, Malfoy's methods might have resulted in Harry waking up married to the bastard.

Harry preferred Byakuran for obvious reasons.

All of the people she knows are bastards, but dammit, they are the best in their business.

"My baby," comes a wail that makes her cringe. Then she's smothered in a hug that's clingier than an octopus. "You ran away with your bodyguard in the middle of the Film Festival. _Whhhyyyy?_ Is daddy's film so boring? It's the premier!"

Since she loves him, Harry stops herself from kneeing him in the crotch. Maybe Xanxus' violent tendencies are rubbing off on her.

"Stop referring to yourself in the third person!" she yells. "And dad, you made a film based on my _high school years_! Of course I ran off! You're lucky I brought Reborn with me!"

And more wailing. Like James Potter isn't a world-renowned movie director and actor.

Harry rolls her eyes and hides behind Reborn.

.

* * *

.

Later, when everything dies down, she finds herself wrapped in Reborn's suit jacket and sleeping on her bodyguard.

"Reborn," she murmurs. "Should we tell dad we eloped?"

There's a shriek somewhere, which meant that Hermione read her lips and told her dad. Annoying busybodies, but she can't live without them.

"You already did," he says, standing up and carrying her as James starts to thunder towards them in righteous indignation.

.

* * *

.

 **So, Harry is actually an actress with really paranoid parents, so she totally knows a lot of random shit to survive a kidnapping. Reborn is the responsible bodyguard, while Xanxus is the one that enables the things Harry gets into.**

 **Reviews please.**

 **~hallen**


End file.
